


Bound

by Enslaved_eleuthromaniac



Category: Aladdin - Fandom, Disney - Fandom
Genre: F/F, F/M, First fic please be nice, Gen, Had to try to make it fit within 1800-2200 words, Suggestion of rape (not between main characters), constructive criticism appreciated, jasmine is the genie, vague f/f, vague f/m
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:21:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23799172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enslaved_eleuthromaniac/pseuds/Enslaved_eleuthromaniac
Summary: A different take on genies and how the lamp works. Inspired by disney's Aladdin. Can be gen if you want. Sorry, I suck at summaries
Relationships: Jasmin/Aladdin (minor), jasmine/OFC (minor)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Bound

“You tricked me,” I say softly. I stare blankly at the ornate, golden shackles binding my wrists. I tilt my head to look at the man standing above me and cold metal brushes against my neck— a collar. How fitting.

“I'm sorry, I had no other choice.” Al’s guilt-laden whisper makes me want to sneer. 

“I am not your friend,” I hiss. “And there's always a choice.”

“You have no idea what it is like. You'll find out, though, and then you'll understand— you'll make the same decision as I did. You'll see.” His voice stays soft, but there's an unmoving certainty behind the words.

“I will never be like you,” I spit. “I will never betray a friend.”

He hums softly. “Perhaps not now and perhaps not even in the next century, but you will cave eventually. All of us do in the end.”

“Just go. It's done now.”

A painful, horrible silence hangs in the air for what feels like an eternity. “Very well.”

My world spins into nothingness at the man’s departure. I drift aimlessly into darkness. Everything feels… disconnected and hazy, like I'm a ghost lost in a lifeless world. 

It could have been eons before I’m wrenched away from the all-consuming darkness. Perhaps that's why it's such a surprise to open my eyes— I have eyes— to blue and green. The sky stretches above me, dappled with leaves and branches. There's sand and mud squelching between my toes, and icy water burbling gently around my ankles. 

And a boy. There's a little boy with huge brown eyes clutching a golden lamp that looks huge in his small hands standing on the bank of the stream I find myself in. He's young, though I can't say exactly how old he is. The boy looks down at the lamp and back up to me, guilt and disappointment written across his face. 

“Is this yours, miss? I promise I wasn't gonna steal it or nothin’. I just found it here.” He asks, holding out the lamp.

“No,” I reply, the answer coming out like a compulsion. The word feels foreign in my mouth. 

“Oh. Well, I'm Jon and I'm five,” the boy, Jon apparently, grinned. “Mumma wanted me to fill the buckets. I'm heading back now. Wanna come?”

I look over to where he's pointing at a pair of small wooden buckets filled to the brim with water. They're old and a bit rickety, but they seem to be doing the job well enough.

“Yes,” I say, the word feeling drawn out and oddly formal.

As we walk, I discover Jon is a bit of a talker. He tells me about his older sisters, Mari and Emma, and his younger brother Aaron, accompanied by little stories that make very little logical sense, but also seem to convey exactly what is necessary. He talks about feeding the chickens and how one of them, Bo, had pecked at his hand two days before.

“See?” He shows me a small little scratch that's been scabbed over.

He also talks about his mother and how she's the best person in the whole world because she makes bread for the village and sometimes saves enough for supper every few weeks. And also because she gave Billy from across the way a few good swats when he started picking on Jon for petting the cows.

“If I could have anything in the world, I would want a cow. A big, fat, girl cow ‘cause Mumma— she been talkin’ about gettin’ one. Says a girl cow can give us milk to sell.”

A sharp chill runs down my spine at the words, raising goose flesh on my arms and legs. Without being able to stop myself, I lean down to whisper conspiratorially into the little boy's ear. “I have a big fat girl cow, you know. If you want it, you can have it.”

The brown mop of hair sitting atop Jon’s head spins out when he whips his eyes to mine. “Really?”

“Really.”

The boy bites his lip. “Mumma said to never take something without giving something in return, so I'll give you this,” he holds the lamp out in offering.

I later smile and watch Jon’s mother’s delight when she catches sight of the large cow. 

And yet, something blooms within my chest, barely even noticeable, just a niggling little thing. 

“Come on, mumma! Come meet her; she's really nice,” I hear before the world spins and the darkness is back.

More people follow Jon. Some happen upon me by accident like Jon had. Some find me and ignore me entirely, thinking me useless and send me spiraling back into empty darkness. Some, though, seek me out themselves, greedy for my… talents, or just out of desperation. 

I serve all— rich and poor, lazy and ambitious, simpletons and geniuses, those who know what I am and those who don't. I am a slave to any who summon me.

There are very few people whom I've served who have truly stood out to me. Amanda is one of them. She's seventeen and soft-spoken. She flinches away from my every move, even when I'm several feet away from her. She knows exactly what I am and what she wants from me.

“I want to forget. I can't sleep without remembering…” she trails off.

“Are you sure? It won't change what happened to you, nor the struggles you will face. If I do this, you won't remember anything, but your body will. Sometimes not knowing is worse than knowing.”

She bites her lip, hands smoothing over her rounded tummy. A minute passes before she looks back up into my eyes, determination writ large across her face. 

“What happened to me wasn't my fault in any way. The man who did it to me is the one who should be feeling this. I don't want to suffer through the memories any more, but I think removing them would be an admission that he won or something. So no, I don't want you to remove them, but I do want you to give me some peace or maybe some distance if it's possible.”

I smile at the strong woman in front of me. “Now, that I can do.”

\-----

“Hello, Jaz. You're looking well.”

Everything within me stiffens at the nickname— my nickname. 

“Al. I didn't know you were still alive,” I say coldly. 

Pain flickers across his face. “I suppose I deserve that.”

“You deserve much more than that and you know it.” I glare at him. “How are you alive still? It's been centuries.”

He shrugs. “We're all connected to that lamp. All of us who have been freed are still tied to it. You will be too once someone takes your place.”

“Still so sure I'll do that to someone?” I sneer.

“It will happen whether you want it to or not. One person isn't supposed to carry that sort of power for long. It corrupts you. You can feel it growing, can't you? That tiny little thing inside you the first time someone made a—”

“Don't say it,” I interrupt.

He gives me a nasty little smile. “You've lasted longer than most of us, you know. You even still have goodness within you. You still grant… requests without twisting them too much. But how much longer do you think you will last? How much longer before that monster growing inside you gets too big? There's no shame in passing off the baton, as the saying goes.”

“And make someone else go through this? No thank you. If I have to, I can hide myself away. Then no one can use me.”

He gives me a pitying look. “You know as well as I that the lamp will never accept that. But, if you wish to stay in denial, then so be it. I just wanted to let you know that your time is coming to an end. My advice? Don't wait for it to be someone you love.”

Years pass in a blur and the thing inside me continues to spread. I'd noticed it before, but with it pointed out now… well, it's hard not to see anymore. 

Men asking for buried treasure end up buried right alongside it rather than the treasure being unearthed at their feet. Children asking where their lost pets went get the roadkill remnants rather than speeches about how they're in a better place now. It's like every request is granted in the worst possible way and don't have the slightest control over it.

Ten horrible years after my rather unfortunate meeting with Al, I meet another person who catches my attention. 

She stands in front of me, holding my lamp with two fingers away from her body with a disgusted look on her face.

“What’s your name?” I ask. 

“Amara. And you're the djinn that killed my grandfather’s brother.” 

“Sounds rather nasty when you put it like that. He asked for something and I gave it to him. It's hardly my fault that he didn't understand that my talents are a bit fickle.”

“It doesn't really matter because I don't want you,” she snaps. “I didn't mean to summon you or whatever, so you can just go away.”

“Hmmm, sorry sweet cheeks, no can do.”

“I know you can go back into your lamp. Plenty of people have done it before without having to make a wish.”

I twitch at the ‘w’ word. “Those people aren't you, hun. Those people didn't have wishes to begin with.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Not everyone has the same number of wishes,” I begin with a put upon sigh. “Some people have none, some have as many as nine or ten. Best I can reason is that some people don't need any wishes and some people need a lot. Either way, you are not one of those who don't need any wishes. Sorry.”

I watch in amusement as Amara huffs and storms away, hurling the golden lamp at the floor with a harsh clanging sound. I follow sedately behind her, guided by the long-familiar tugging in my gut.

When I finally find her, she vows never to ask for anything. She does, however, offer me a room in the palace. I really should have known she was a princess of some sort.

Months pass and I find myself unable to dislike the girl, and I can't help but be a bit smug when she finally admits to liking me. She's fierce and ambitious and so determined not to ask for help from anyone that it's probably easy for her to ignore my purpose. 

Which is probably why it came as such a surprise when she finally does make her first request.

“There are rules to being… what I am.” I murmur softly to her, brushing my lips against skin the color of burnt sugar. “Things I cannot do.”

“Like what?”

“I can't dabble with necromancy, make people fall in love, or kill. I can bring back those close to death, though, and there are plenty of loopholes of the love bit. I really can't kill anyone, even with loopholes though, much to the disappointment of the morally questionable people who find me.”

“Oh, the poor bastards,” she huffs sarcastically.

I smile. 

“Dad’s in negotiations with France. He's been trying to forge an alliance ever since the war ended and they went back to being a monarchy. A marriage between the prince and I would ensure a strong one.” 

My arms tighten around her instinctively, the darkness of her room suddenly feeling suffocating. “And what do you want?” I ask as evenly as I'm capable.

“I just wish my father could recognize me as his daughter instead of a pretty face to be sold off to the highest bidder.”

I can practically taste the horror in the air the second the words leave her lips. I spend the night alone in a cold bed for the first time in weeks. 

Her second wish is resigned. “I've already done what I said I wouldn't. I might as well just suck it up and deal with it,” she says after I ask why.

“I wish my father all the happiness that is possible.”

“So be it,” I whisper.

Her last wish is said with so much determination that her words barely register before the chill races through me one last time.

“I wish you were free.” 

“No!” The word punches out of me. “No, stop.Take it back! Don't—”

It's too late. It's much too late for that horrible, horrible wish to be taken back. The beautiful, golden shackles binding my wrists turn to ash, the skin fish belly pale. The weight around my throat disappears and I scrabble desperately at the newly revealed skin. My breath comes fast, but it feels like none of the oxygen is reaching my lungs. 

“What? Why did—” Amara’s voice cuts through the panic. 

My hands still themselves and I watch numbly as she touches ornate gold cuffs now encircling her own wrists. 

“It’s the last, unspoken rule. We aren't allowed to say it,” I almost choke on the words. “ Any who wishes for a genie’s freedom offers their own freedom in return.”

“What?” She whispers, horrified.

“There must always be a genie of the lamp.”


End file.
